Send Judah First

By Brian Johnson

A young girl’s life is shattered when she is stolen from her African village in a midnight raid. Ruthlessly torn from her family to be beaten, chained, degraded, and enslaved in a heartless world she can barely comprehend. The slave ledger at Virginia’s Belle Grove Plantation only reveals that Judah was purchased to be the cook, gave birth to 12 children, and died in April 1836. But, like the other 276 faceless names entered in that ledger, Judah lived. Brian C. Johnson’s important work of historical fiction goes beyond what is recorded to portray the depth, humanity, and vulnerability of a beautiful soul all but erased by history. For Judah, as Johnson notes, “did the ultimate—she survived. Not as a weakling, but resilient and determined.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hidden Shelf Publishing House
• Release date: Jan 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463472927

Book preview

FOREWORD

I first met Judah on Saturday, October 16, 2016. As part of my responsibilities as director of the Frederick Douglass Institute for Academic Excellence at Bloomsburg University of Pennsylvania, I had led an overnight student field trip for a living history weekend at Belle Grove plantation in Middletown, Virginia.

After disembarking from the bus, our guides led us to the plantation’s winter kitchen, a lower level room with a big fireplace. A woman dressed in period attire stirred pots hanging in the fireplace, preparing our dinner. Kristen Laise, executive director of the plantation, introduced Ranger Shannon Moeck of the National Park Service, who would tell us more about the woman who had occupied this space for nearly four decades in the early 1800s.

The program was titled Kneading in Silence: A Glimpse into the Life of Judah the Enslaved Cook. Shannon provided an overview of the laws governing life of the enslaved in Virginia and spoke of Judah’s children.

We were told about the multi-layered work of the enslaved cook, who not only prepared the food for the master and his family, but also for all the enslaved workers. I felt a kinship to Judah. I love to cook.

Shannon also showed us some of the cure-alls and soaps the cook may have made in her role as medicine woman and slave doctor. Holding those items was a spiritual experience. I know Judah likely never touched them, but I felt her willing me to connect with her.

And then came a detail that nearly broke my heart—there are only two existing documents that prove Judah ever lived.

Send Judah First is based upon my knowledge of slave history and what is in the Hite family historical record. The legacy of slavery is alive in America today. As a nation, we celebrate/mourn/acknowledge, in 2019, the 400th anniversary of the first arrival of Africans as slaves to Virginia. America, as a nation, must grapple with this hard history. Clarion calls and nods to the U.S. Constitution fail to acknowledge that the Founding Fathers, including the first five presidents, were slave owners. President James Madison, chief author of the document declaring America’s commitment to equality called slavery the most oppressive dominion ever exercised by man over man. By the way, President Madison saw blacks as three-fifths a person. Madison makes an appearance in this tale, as he was the real-life brother of Nelly Madison Hite, first mistress of Belle Grove.

There have been times when I have felt inadequate to tell Judah’s story. At other times, I feel like no one else should or could tell her story. I feel called to it. Shannon encouraged us to imagine life for Judah and her family at Belle Grove . . . years of working, living, raising a family under enslaved conditions.

Send Judah First is not a tale of scandal, of insurrections and violence, but of one woman’s attempts to live with dignity above the negative circumstances of forced servitude. This story gives honor to a woman (and all those like her), who suffered the indignities of oppression and racism, but did the ultimate—she survived. Not as a weakling, but as resilient and determined.

CHAPTER 1

Yuda! Amkeni!

Awakened by her mother’s fearsome screams, young Yuda stood frozen as she struggled to find her sense of direction.

Mama, Ni nini mbaya?

Mama yelled for Yuda to run, but which direction? She tried to fight the sleep from her eyes and the nighttime clouds out of her brain. Mama’s fearful voice turned to anger as Yuda seemed to move too slow. The acrid smell of burning filled Yuda’s nostrils . . . fire! Yuda could hear the villagers running wildly in fear. Strangers had invaded the village.

Kuna wageni katika kijiji, her mother screamed.

Wageni? Ni akina nani? Yuda questioned, trying to corral her confusion as a ball of fire came flying into their home.

Yuda, sasa! Wao ni kuchoma kila kitu! Sisi lazima kukimbia sasa!

Mama, nyumba ni kuchoma!

Yuda, kukimbia! At her mother’s command, Yuda rushed outside, barely seeing the stock of a stranger’s rifle, the impact slamming the bridge of her nose, her thoughts shattered.

When she came to her senses, Yuda was being marched alongside a train of other black bodies. Each had been tied to the other like a string of baby elephants. Horrified and crying, Yuda desperately scanned the crowd.

Mama! Mama! Nini kinaendelea? Anakozi? Kwa nini ni sisi kuwa minyororo pamoja?

What was happening and why were they chained?

And who were these African men barking orders in a language she did not understand. What village were they from and why were they yelling? One of the men walked close to her.

Yeye anasema nini?

Perhaps he would explain. Instead, he pulled out a small crooked stick and pointed it in the air, producing an awful crack of noise as smoke poured from the front of it. The man looked at her with an anger she had never seen, as if he were not even human.

Hasira ya pepo!

Yuda saw her friend, Anakozi, walking near to her. Anakozi had screamed when the weapon went off, trying to put her hands over her ears. But movement was impossible with their hands chained. The strange men kept pushing, hitting, yelling. But then she saw something she had never seen—a man of goat’s milk, his face and arms oddly white. The man waved one of his hands as if ordering everyone to move while speaking in Yuda’s direction.

Sasa! Hebu kupata hatua ya juu!

What? Yuda was stunned to hear this abnormal looking man using her language. Perhaps this was one of those goat’s milk men of another religion she had heard about. The elders had warned not to trust these strange men who had been taught by demons to destroy life.

Hofu mgenim, the elders had said. Mgeni atatuangamiza na kuharibu nchi yetu.

Yuda had thought the elders of unsound mind, but now realized they were right.

Abioye suddenly held up the line, pointing to his mouth.

Mimi nimechoka na kiu hivyo!

An African jabbed him with a pole, but then commotion broke out at the front of the line. Dinka, the warrior, was attempting to pull himself free from the chains. But the boom of a fire stick scared him back. Yuda had never seen Dinka afraid of anything.

Through the trees, Yuda heard waves crashing against the beach. She knew they were getting close to the Great Sea. When they reached the clearing, she saw three large ships docked near the shore. Lines of black bodies shiny with sweat in the sunlight were climbing aboard the ships, still locked together in chains and ropes. Men and women alike screamed out the names of their children, but the waves drowned out their voices.

And now she noticed many men with faces of goat’s milk, all with fire sticks. Having never seen white men before, except for the one on the trail, Yuda’s gaze locked for fear.

Yuda saw Lakshmana, her cousin, at the top of the ship on the right. She thought to call out to her, but by the time she found the words, Lakshmana was gone.

Yuda!

Turning toward the sound of her name, Yuda caught a glimpse of her mother’s face in the sun, standing among a crowd of prisoners.

Mama! Yuda screamed with the fierceness of a warrior and pulled at her chains. Yuda expected her mother to do the same, that such a strong woman would have put up a mighty fuss as they shackled her. But, when Yuda got a better look, she only saw the agony of a tired and beaten woman with downcast eyes, dragging her chains. Mama looked up again, her eyes wanting to pull her daughter closer, her voice carrying dimly across the distance.

Yuda, jipeni moyo! Sisi kupata njia hii. Mimi ni daima na wewe!

Yuda wondered how her mother could smile and tell her to be of good cheer. In her twelve years of living, Yuda had never been separated from her mother.

Mama! Yuda called out, but she was gone.

Yuda’s eyes burned from crying as she was led aboard the third ship, past white men with anger in their eyes and words. As one man barked loud sounds with no meaning, she noticed brown drool dripping from his mouth. Yuda tried to turn away from the sight, her mind racing with ideas of how she might escape. No, it was impossible.

Her chest ached and the chains made it difficult to walk up the long plank onto the ship. A hard shove forced her to keep moving forward. Onto the deck of the ship, some of the women were released from their chains and pushed into a room. Everyone else was sent down into a dark hold.

In the scant light, Yuda seemed to be surrounded within a dense crowd, a human cargo of maybe two hundred others in her same condition. In the obscurity, she noticed each man and boy being blatantly shoved and locked onto a line of shackles that were fastened tightly to the inner walls of the ship. The women and girls were cordoned off away from the men and pushed into a large and dusky room, the only light coming from cracks in the wood. They were not chained, but the door was closed and bolted.

A few minutes later, the large door overhead slammed shut, leaving nothing but darkness, fear, and agony. There was so little room to move and her entire body throbbed in pain.

Between the cries and groans of her fellow captives, Yuda thought she heard the scurrying of feet on the upper level. And then, the ship lurched forward. Yuda felt dizzy and sick as her body adjusted to the ship’s movement in the waves. She clutched the wooden wall with one hand and her stomach with the other. It had been hours since her last meal, but she still had to fight to keep her stomach contents down, even while others could not.

Who were all these people crammed in the darkness? Yuda did not hear anyone who spoke her language, who might be from Goga.

Ni mtu yeyote kutoka goga? she cried.

Yuda?

The voice was barely audible and came from the other side of the wall. Somehow, it broke through the commotion.

Yuda, ni kwamba wewe?

Even though it came with the sound of chains being pounded against the wall, the voice was beautifully familiar.

Dinka?

Yuda’s heart felt stronger. He was not that far away, just the other side of her wall. She could not see him, so many bodies in the dark, but felt safe knowing Dinka was nearby. The cloaking shroud of fear and uncertainty abated; Dinka would protect her.

The ship sailed for quite some time before the big door pulled open and a flood of sunlight poured in.

Hiyo inaumiza!

Yuda and many of the others cried out in pain as their eyes adjusted to the invading light.

Two men of goat’s milk descended the stairs and opened the door to the women’s cell. Smiling, they leered and pointed at the women and young girls. One white man with a mouthful of crooked teeth grabbed his manhood and pointed at Yuda. She tried to turn her body to hide but could hardly move it was so crowded. She was but a girl, her body still developing, too young for such stares. But Crooked Teeth kept looking at her.

Je, meno ya mviringo yanataka nini?

CHAPTER 2

Many days must have passed. Yuda had never seen or felt such horror. The stench of being locked within a damp chamber; crammed against bodies unknown. Sorrow, anger, fear, frustration—she cried for days, deeply longing for her mother, her father, her brothers and sisters, her friends. Would she see any of them ever again? And what was left of her home, of beautiful Goga? Even spurts of sleep, twisted atop the damp floor, brought no comfort.

Death was everywhere. At times, groups of captives were dragged onto the deck and ordered to dance around to the delight and abuse of the white men. A few of the Africans managed to break free, jumping into the Great Sea to drown. Some refused to eat and were force fed. Others simply wasted away into death, their bodies producing a rancid smell that lingered long after the goat’s milk men had removed the corpse and tossed it into the ocean.

Both Yuda’s body and mind felt shattered.

Ambapo walikuwa wao kwenda? Kuibiwa kwa kuchinjwa? Mimi watakufa?

Where were they going? Stolen for slaughter? Would she die? It was the fear of the unknown that shook her core.

Eventually, the ship began to slow, the trap door opened, and the blinding sunlight once again poured in as the white men came down the steps, yelling in their strange tongue.

Look alive, you black bastards! Time to get up. Rise and shine. Time to get y’all ready for market. We gonna have us a lot of fun!

Her eyes had barely adjusted to the brightness as she was prodded up to the deck.

Yuda felt the grime under her elongated fingernails. Bits of crust had dried between her thighs. Gogans were proud people and the filthiness of her covering cloth brought her great shame. She pulled at her matted hair as her skin crawled from the smelly memory of the woman next to her who had soiled herself when she was unable to get to the bucket the white men had given them to collect their waste.

On the deck, Yuda inhaled the fresh crisp air, the first clean air she’d smelled for so long. Her moment of refreshment was spoiled as a bucket of cold water was splashed into her face. She sputtered the water from her mouth and looked around at her companions. Water droplets glistened on their deep, dark brown skin in the sunlight as the white men gleefully tossed bucket upon bucket of water upon them. Her brothers and sisters began washing off the stench from weeks in the jela—a jail. Having seen elephants bathing like this, she assumed that’s what the white men expected them to do.

Still, the feeling of water felt liberating, as if Yuda was a normal person once again. But that feeling would be momentary. After another splash, she gasped and took in a couple deep breaths. Shaking the water from her face, she looked ashore, wondering where she was and what possibly could be next.

While they were bathed, Yuda felt the stares of Crooked Teeth, a disgusting white man stealing the joy of the warm sun on her skin. Again, she wanted to cover up and hide. Although she had tried to rid her mind of his disgust, she again felt unclean, contaminated. She had tried to protest and fight, but Crooked Teeth had dragged her out of the women’s jela and into a corner out of the men’s view. It was good not be be seen, she thought, as he violated and shamed her at his pleasure.

Uchafu kuudhi. Yeye ni mnyama.

Her matiti had begun to swell and become very sensitive. In fact, they hurt. She recalled asking her mama when her bumps would grow. Her mother had told her that when she became a woman, the little mosquito bites on her chest would become rounder and fill up like hers. Yuda thought she must be a woman now.

Yuda once again was overcome with the sick and empty feeling of yearning for her mother.

After being washed, the captives were given clean clothes to wear. Although the cloth was scant, Yuda felt grateful to be covered up. When her face had dried, she glanced across the horizon. Several large ships had docked. She could tell this was some bustling seaport or marketplace, yet no women were around with baskets of sundries balanced on their heads. This was not Goga.

Again, the white demons chained everyone together and herded the long line down the ship’s plank and into a large wooden room with a dirt floor. It wasn’t long before several white men entered and unleashed the binds upon their wrists, ordering everyone to strip off their clothes. The white men then slathered the naked bodies with some greasy substance. Yuda took notice of the fire sticks hanging at their sides.

Gonna shine you niggers up for market. Fetch a pretty penny.

Once greased, the shined people were permitted to put their clothes back on. Yuda noticed a white man she assumed must have been a king based on his royal dress. His fine white mane tumbled down his back from underneath a triangular hat with a feathered plume. He talked quietly with another man. They looked at something that appeared to be sheets of extremely thin wood, but Yuda had no idea why the two men found these sheets so fascinating. They shook hands and the king walked away with a large smile on his face.

Just then drums started to play. White people who had been milling about began to gather around a stage set in the middle of an outdoor courtyard.

The same man who had shaken hands with the king began to speak.

"Wonderful people of the south, can I beg your attention? Welcome to Norfolk. As advertised, on this beautiful autumn day in the year of our Lord, 1807, we have a superb lot of choice cargo, healthy slaves largely from the Volta River near the Ivory Coast. They’ve made a safe passage and are in prime, healthy condition.

"One other note of significance, with this new and, I think we can all agree, brazen federal law

Reviews for Send Judah First

[Geneviève Rouleau · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Disclaimer: I received an ARC of this book through NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

TW : sexual abuse, kidnapping, verbal and physical violence, illness, slavery

This story is fast paced, engaging, and absolutely heart wrenching. The author brilliantly depicted the white man's bigotry and entitlement in that era (I wish I can say things have changed, buuut...)

This book offered a unique perspective about how life was likely to be for a slave on a plantation, instead of being about escape on the underground railroad : this was about Judah's life and hardships, with a sprinkle of romance and happiness added in. Oh, and the audiobook narrator, Elizabeth Isitor, was excellent and added and extra dimension to this story, bringing Judah back to life.

I also appreciated the postscript at the end of the book, specifying the historical accuracies of this story, as well as the fictional aspects.